


our love is here to stay

by blanchtt



Category: Carol (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 21:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12850080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanchtt/pseuds/blanchtt
Summary: In spring she treks across New York City, giddy with love, and picks up flowers for Carol’s dining room table.





	our love is here to stay

**Author's Note:**

> #129 first snow — Carol/Therese 
> 
> Post-canon plans and lesbian families.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The offer still stands, and still Therese refuses it.

 

She hardly has to ask if Carol understands—she can see it in the sincerity in Carol's small smile, the crinkle to her eyes, the demure nod as she delivers her decision over dinner. Life has, so far, been a whirlwind of emotions. A few more months in which to be sure of herself is nothing.  

 

She keeps her apartment, though that doesn’t preclude her from visiting Carol’s.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

In spring she treks across New York City, giddy with love, and picks up flowers for Carol’s dining room table. The occasional shower means she arrives soaked, though damp clothes are quickly shed and cool limbs warmed.

 

Later, cooking dinner as Carol composes herself in the bedroom, the late afternoon light, low for the retreating storm clouds outside, catches the flowers just right, stems dropped artfully into a vase, the petals flecked with water.

 

She's gotten into a habit of carrying around her camera from work, and takes a photo, finishes her roll of film.

 

Later, in the privacy of her own kitchen, the bath tray perched on the counter near the sink, Therese develops it, watches as the image comes to life under red light. It’s sensuous and suggestive, and she dries it, frames it, and leaves it discreetly on Carol’s vanity, a token of desire that blooms between them once again with each wink, each touch, each kiss.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

In summer the distance between her apartment and Carol’s seems to grow.

 

She knows the way by heart—the shortcuts and the scenic routes both, though now all by cab _and_ by foot since paying for rides is beginning to wear on her savings.

 

She’s never been particularly fond of summer and, forced to walk, tries to leave her place by midmorning or, alternately, wait until the sun’s started a slow arc towards setting to avoid arriving a frumpy, sweaty mess.

 

(The issue is not _becoming_ a sweaty mess, as Carol clearly has no issue with, but indecorously _arriving_ as one).

 

The topic has not come up since it was last mentioned, the idea only something in the vague but rosy future to look forward to, until now. But after after three months of lugging things here and there, of forgetting things at Carol's and forgetting things at her place, and missing out on Friday dinners with Rindy, Therese begins to reconsider.

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

Autumn means pleasant walks through the park and to the bodega and to Carol’s again, though sometimes Carol drives by to pick her up.

 

Therese stands on the sidewalk, heavy overnight bag on the ground, and waits.

 

It’s a windy day, the kind that pushes at her and demands she push back, and when Carol pulls up, Therese gets the Packard’s door open with difficulty, lugs her bag into the back, and slips into the passenger seat, lets the door slam shut behind her.

 

When it comes time to sleep later, there is already her toothbrush on Carol’s sink and her pajamas in a drawer of Carol’s wardrobe, and she slips into sheets that smell like the two of them. She wakes with Carol's head resting on her breast, arms around her waist slack in sleep, and aches for home though she's yet to get up.

 

“I’ve been thinking,” Therese admits over breakfast the next morning, sitting across from Carol in the tiny kitchen, and can't help but notice the slow, eager smile from Carol or her own excitement, a happy, rushing thumping of her heart.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

They've set up the tree, done the hard part of hauling it in and standing it up just right and cleaning up pine needles scattered on the carpet, and so they sit back, let Rindy take control of the decorations.

 

Winter this year is enjoyable for a whole host of reasons, Therese decides, and particularly because by the first snow she’s sitting on the settee in their apartment, curled up with Carol.

 

Carol sits perpedicular to her, reclining with a cigarette between her fingers and her legs in her lap, and Therese rests a hand on her ankle, the other smoothing along a calf, and they watch as the tree grows heavy with ornaments on one side and thick with tinsel on the other, at the mercy of the creative license of a six-year-old

 

“It’s lovely, darling,” Carol says, struggling to hide an amused laugh as Rindy reaches up on tip-toes to place the angel on top, and Therese couldn’t agree more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
